


The Ghost in the Machine

by DizzyDrea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comic Book Science, Coulson Lives, Friendship, Gen, Life Model Decoys, Nick Fury Lies, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One by one, the Avengers discover the real truth about Phil Coulson. But what happens when the man himself figures it out?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/893075">I, Robot</a></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [I, Robot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/893075). The title comes from a line in the Will Smith movie, _I, Robot_ , talking about what makes a person a person, and how a robot can become more than the sum of its parts. With generous thanks to the reviewers who asked for more (and you know who you are), here is more.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Avengers and all its particulars are the property of Marvel Studios, Walt Disney Studios, Joss Whedon, and a lot of other people who aren’t me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

~o~

Tony Stark is not an idiot. No one he knows would call him an idiot. Well, Pepper might, but Pepper Potts is a remarkable woman with ten times the snark and a great deal more intellect than anyone ever gives her credit for.

Still, Tony knows that he's smarter than 95% of the population. 98.5%, if he's feeling particularly clever.

And yet, right now, he's looking at something he knows— _knows_ —he shouldn't be.

"Tony, are you even listening to me?"

Tony eyes Phil Coulson, flashing that trademark grin as he sidles over to his workstation and surreptitiously taps out a few commands for JARVIS.

"Yep," he says, popping the 'p', just for effect. "Doombots. Command vehicle. Coffee. Although, I must say, the coffee might be said to have improved your tie." Coulson's scowl has him fighting a smile as he holds up a hand. "I'm just saying."

"I'm not saying I liked this tie," Coulson says, then pauses. "Well, actually, I do like this tie. But that's not my point. My point is—"

"Your point is," Tony interrupts to cover the flash and beep of the scans he's initiated, "that you'd rather we didn't blow things up right over your head so you don't jump and squeak like a little girl."

"I did not squeak, Stark," Coulson says.

Tony hides his frown with a smirk. "Yeah, you kinda did when you were jumping out of the van to shoot… was it me, or was it the Doombot?"

Couson's withering glare suggests he probably doesn't want to know the answer to that.

"You're taking this awfully well, Stark."

Tony shrugs at Coulson's suspicious tone. Yeah, they'd all thought he was dead, until he showed up with a new team, chasing something he'd called an 0-8-4, which turned out to be the localized EM field-powered Doombots—and he doesn't care what Fury or Coulson says, he's going to call them Doombots because it sounds cooler than Remotely-Operated Motorized Extraction Robots (hey! ROMERs!)—the very same phenomenon that he and Bruce had been tracking, with an assist from Clint and Natasha, who'd both refused to allow him to wander the streets of New York without an escort. Or a babysitter, he's not really clear on the conversation, considering he was too distracted by the shinnies to pay attention.

"What can I say? My best friend can turn into a green rage monster, I live with the God of Thunder and last year I helped stop an alien invasion. It's SHIELD. Nothing surprises me anymore."

Coulson eyes him suspiciously. "You're not even going to ask where I've been?"

"Okay, Agent, I'll bite. Where have you been?" Tony says, rolling his eyes.

"Tahiti," Coulson says. "You should try it sometime. It's magical."

The words somehow ring false, for all that Coulson believes them when he says them, which only serves to cement the idea that's been forming in Tony's mind. He really hopes he's wrong, but somehow he knows he isn't.

Finally, after far too long and one too many reprimands, Coulson leaves, grumbling about tasing him the next time he even thinks about setting him up. Tony should probably be worried about that, but all he can think about are the results of the scans parading across the screens in front of him.

He knows that what he's seeing isn't a joke, but for just an instant, he thinks maybe JARVIS is messing with him.

"I have no reason to lie to you," JARVIS says, without being prompted. "Today."

"No, no," Tony says. "I get it. I just—"

"This is not what you were expecting."

JARVIS has a decided flair for the understatement, but he's not wrong. He'd never have expected this of Fury, except this is just the sort of thing Fury would do to gain a tactical advantage. Although, what tactical advantage a robotic Coulson can give them is anyone's guess.

"JARVIS, did you detect any signals anomalous to the Tower?"

"No, sir," JARVIS says. His tone—if it's possible—sounds defeated. "I detected no signals which do not belong to myself or the equipment known to reside within the Tower."

"So, he's not just using the LMD while he recovers in a hospital bed somewhere tropical. Like say, Tahiti?"

"I'm afraid not, sir." 

JARVIS pauses, which grates on Tony's last nerve. "Spit it out."

"The body is—"

"I know," Tony says sharply. He doesn't need his AI to tell him that; he could see it as if it were scrawled in black Sharpie on the man's forehead.

"Shall I contact Director Fury and set up a meeting?"

And leave it to JARVIS to get to the heart of it so quickly, all while being completely unconcerned that he's become the convenient target for Tony's anger. His expression hardens, his temper flaring dangerously. He glances at the latest iteration of the Suit, wondering if it would intimidate Fury to be staring down Iron Man instead of Tony Stark.

He dismisses the idea as soon as it forms. Fury would probably just snort and go about his business.

"JARVIS, fire up the Veyron."

He's feeling particularly dangerous this afternoon, feeling like scaring more than just tourists. A wicked smile curves his lips as he contemplates finally getting to unload on the Director.

Well, this week, anyway.

...continued...


	2. Steve

~o~

Captain Steve Rogers, taps on the door before turning the knob, poking his head around to see if he's disturbing anyone. Director Fury looks up from his massive desk and frowns, his one eye raking over Steve like he's a teenager returning well past curfew.

Steve frowns, then pushes the door wider and steps inside.

"What is it, Rogers?" Fury barks as he returns his attention to the pile of papers scattered over his desk.

Steve could swear that, every other time he's been to the Director's office, that desk had been spotless, to the point where he's wondered if Fury even works in there, or if he has some hidden cupboard where the really important work gets done.

His eyes are tracking around the room, noticing details in a way he really hasn't before. The stark white walls and metal and glass furniture speaking of a modern design aesthetic that he thinks Fury probably doesn't care about; the array of monitors behind him, dark and silent now, but more often than not showing him the faces of people he'd probably rather not be speaking to; the single potted plant looking forlorn and out of place in the corner.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

Steve's attention snaps back to the Director, sitting back in his chair now, hands folded on his desk. He's wearing a—well, patient would be stretching it a bit, but it's the only word that fits—patient look on his face, as if he's got all day to wait for Steve to get around to whatever it is that brought him to SHIELD HQ today.

It's that thought more than anything that spurs Steven into action. 

"Director," he says, taking a few quick steps to stop in front of the desk. "I wondered if you have a minute. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Fury sighs. "No, as a matter of fact, I don't have a minute." But just as Steve is about to protest—something he almost never does, but this is important—Fury raises a hand. "But I get the feeling you're not going to go away until you've said what you came here to say. So, come on. Let's have it. What did Tony do now?"

"I—No. It's not—Well, I don't think it's Tony," Steve says. He really doesn't know how to explain this, so he takes a deep breath and just dives in. "Have you noticed anything unusual about Agent Coulson lately?"

Fury leans forward, his expression going from laconic interest to sharp curiosity in an instant. "What have you seen?"

Steve shrugs. "I don't know. There's just—ever since he came back, something's been off. I can't explain it any better than that."

Steve's not usually a man given to suspicion. He gets along well with everyone, and isn't prone to looking for conspiracies around every corner. Which makes what he's saying both painful and necessary. But the way Fury's looking at him, like he's trying to work out just how much Steve knows and how much it'll take to get him to give it up makes him think maybe he's not just jumping at shadows.

"Well, the man was stabbed through the chest," Fury says, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "That's bound to mess with a man's equilibrium."

"It's not that," Steve says, shaking his head. If it were only that, he could accept it. But with his modified senses, it's not how Coulson behaves, it's the mechanics of his behavior.

"Then what is it?"

"You know that I have enhanced senses, in addition to the super strength, right?" Fury nods at his question, so he goes on. "Well, that means I can see things that are beyond the perception of most ordinary people. What I see when I look at Coulson is something slightly less than human. He doesn't sweat, not even a little, not even in a tough situation. And every once in a while, I detect a… low hum, when I'm standing next to him. It's not much, and it doesn't happen every time, but it's there if I listen hard enough."

He expects the Director to pass this off as stress from assimilation into the current century, or sexual frustration—and he's not sure when his sex life became the hot topic among his friends and teammates, but he'd like it to stop—or boredom. What he doesn't expect is for Fury to drop his chin to his chest and take a deep breath, as if he's about to disclose a deeply-held secret against his will.

Tony Stark picks that moment to come charging through the door.

"Look, Fury, I thought we'd already had this conversation," he says—or rather, yells, because he looks as pissed as he sounds. "They weren't ready. Still aren't. All it took was five minutes conversation up close, and a couple of scans, and I knew. So, maybe you'd better start talking, because I'm about ten seconds from—"

"Can it, Stark!" Fury yells. He springs to his feet, leans over his desk and presses his fists into the gleaming glass surface. Steve honestly jumps.

Tony goes silent, shocking the hell out of Steve. They share a look, and Steve turns back to the Director. "Maybe I'll just—"

He's only gotten as far as taking one abortive step back, pointing over his shoulder at the door when Fury's words arrest him in place. He shoots a glance at Tony, but it's like he hasn't noticed Steve's even there, that's how pissed he is.

Fury hangs his head, taking a few deep breaths as if he's the one that needs to calm down. When he straightens up, he's still wearing that same determined scowl, but it's edged with desperation, and Steve's even more confused.

"Gentlemen," he says, waving his hands at them, "have a seat. This is going to take a while."

Steve looks at Tony, who stares back at him. Steve cocks an eyebrow, a silent question. _Should I leave?_ Tony tips his head, the equally silent answer. _Stay. This should be interesting._

They both settle in to the chrome and leather chairs in front of Fury's desk. Fury remains standing, arms crossed, glaring down at them. Well, more at Tony, who's still fuming.

"I had to do it," he finally says, shoulders slumping. He rubs a hand over his face, and this is the most human Steve thinks he's ever seen the Director of SHIELD. The man looks… defeated. Alarm bells start going off in Steve's head.

"Tony, what's going on?" he asks the other man.

Tony sighs, his anger rushing out with the air from his lungs. Steve can see it, the moment when Tony realizes that whatever is going on here has cost Fury something.

"Director Fury replaced Agent Coulson with a Life Model Decoy."

The words hang in the air. Steve's fairly sure he's supposed to know what that means, but honestly, the 21st century has been a bit puzzling at times. All that technology to replace what people used to do face to face all the time. It makes his head hurt.

"And that is…?" Steve asks, when it becomes clear there's nothing more forthcoming.

Tony arches an eyebrow at Fury, but the Director doesn't budge. Finally, Tony huffs out a breath and turns to Steve. "Did you ever read anything by Asimov?"

Steve thinks back to the days before the war, of lazy Saturdays when it was raining too hard and he couldn't go out for fear he'd catch something that would make his asthma worse. So, he'd stayed inside and read; fantastic stories about times and places far removed from his life. Detective serials, period fiction, even the latest science fiction when he could sneak them past his mother. But that stuff was fiction, and this—

And that's when the penny drops.

"Coulson's a robot?"

"Sort of," Tony says. He's still draped over his chair, looking casual and comfortable to all who don't know him like Steve does. Steve can tell there's tension there, in the pinch of his eyes and the carefully studied drape of his body. "It's still Coulson. At least, I presume it's still him."

Both of them turn to Fury, who simply nods once.

Tony turns back to Steve. "I'm guessing that at some point, either before or right after he died, someone did a brain scan, mapped out all his synapses. Then, they downloaded that information into the LMD. It is, for better or worse, Agent Coulson. It has all his memories, all his skills and knowledge. It's just not… organic."

"Holy shit," Steve says. It's not his usual expression, but this time, it fits. He'd known there was something… less than human about Coulson. He'd been hoping he was wrong, but clearly he isn't.

"You don't seem surprised," Tony says.

"That's because before you barged in here to presumably chew my ass off, he was telling me he thought there was something wrong with Coulson."

Both of them turn to Fury, who seems rather calm for having just been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

"I take it this is your technology, Tony?" Steve asks.

"It is."

Tony seems to have calmed down some, though the anger is still there, simmering under the surface.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Nothing," Fury says, as if that's the only logical course of action.

"Bullshit," Tony says. He surges up, leaning across the glass desk to get into Fury's face as much as possible. "I told you that technology wasn't ready for use. It's got a long way to go before it's even remotely ready, as evidenced by the fact that I could pick out microtremors while I was talking to him."

"Is that significant?" Steve asks, rising to his feet.

Tony pulls back and runs a hand through his hair, gusting out a sigh. "It means there's a stress on the system. It wasn't designed for long term use. This one's been active for what? Five months?"

"Closer to six," Fury admits.

"Shit," Tony says. "It's fatigue. The unit is breaking down."

"How long?" Fury asks.

"I'd have to do a complete set of scans to be sure," Tony says.

Fury shakes his head. "Not gonna happen, Stark. How long?"

Tony just stares at Fury for the space of a few heartbeats, then the anger from before comes rushing back in. "He doesn't know, does he? You replaced him with a robot and he doesn't know!"

"Of course he doesn't know!" Fury yells. "You think I want to tell my oldest friend that the life he's been living for the last six months is a lie?"

The silence in the room is almost as deafening as the shouted words from a moment before. Steve knows he's out of his depth, but he's the peacemaker. He wants to solve this problem so they can move on and keep being the team Coulson helped make them.

"Can you build him a new body?" he asks Tony.

"Probably," Tony says, "but that's not the point. Are we gonna keep doing this, every six months until Agent figures out that the lube, oil and filter job he's been getting really is literally a lube, oil and filter job?"

Fury's words, when he speaks them, are almost too quiet to hear. "All I know is, I need Phil Coulson. And I'll do whatever I have to to keep him around. And I'd appreciate it if you gentlemen would keep this to yourselves."

It's about as clear a dismissal as Steve's ever heard. He looks at Fury, at this diminished, broken man, and wonders why he'd ever thought the Director was invincible. He's just as human as the rest of them—with one notable exception. The joke falls flat, even in his own head.

Instead, Steve nods to Fury and heads for the door. Tony stands his ground and stares the Director down for a moment more before he follows Steve out.

They're standing in the corridor, staring at each other as if they can't believe what just happened. 

"So, what are you going to do?" Steve asks.

"Well, I'm not gonna let Agent die, that's for sure."

And with that, Tony charges off down the corridor.

Steve watches him go, wondering when his life started to resemble a comic book.

...continued...


	3. Bruce

~o~

"Tony, I—"

Bruce stops just inside Tony's lab, his eyes quickly scanning the various holograms and monitors before Tony blanks them all with a quick swipe of his hand. He spins around on his stool and gives Bruce what he's come to recognize as a fake grin, calculated to redirect attention away from whatever he's doing.

He should know by now that it won't work on Bruce, but he still keeps trying.

Bruce takes his glasses off and tugs at his shirt tail to polish the lenses, running the images he'd seen just moments ago through his mind. He's not an expert in Tony's field—he has some experience in nuclear physics, obviously while Tony's a physicist and engineer—but none of what he'd seen on the screen resembles Tony's specialty. It's all more up Doctor Banner's scientific alley, and yet Tony didn't ask for his help.

That's intriguing, but not altogether unexpected. Tony dabbles in all sorts of research lines, so taking an interest in a field outside his specialties isn't strange. And he tends to be the most secretive bastard on the planet, besides himself, of course.

He slides his glasses back into place, and looks at Tony with a curious gaze. "So, what's with the interest in cloning? You planning on replicating yourself?"

"I—have no idea what you're talking about," Tony says, flashing another one of his grins. "I was just looking at a statistical analysis of the damage I take in the suit. I'm trying to figure out where the weakest points are—where I sustain the most damage—to see if I can mitigate it somehow."

"Bullshit," Bruce says. Tony winces, which amuses him. He knows no one expects him to swear, but he's spent his life around soldiers and the less-savory parts of humanity. He was bound to pick up a phrase or two. "I saw a DNA profile, brain scan and what looked like the formula for a nutrient bath for biological material. What are you up to?"

Tony visibly deflates before turning around and waving at his console. The displays spark back to life and Bruce steps in close to scan the data.

It's an interesting problem, and one that science has been attempting to solve for years. How do you create an exact copy of an already-living person? The problems inherent are complicated, and modern science hasn't exactly been able to solve them. Mostly, the problem has been that an adult sample of DNA contains already-degraded materials, which means that the resulting offspring will already be aged, even in infancy. 

But it looks like Tony's accounted for a lot of that with the use of stem cells and an artificially grown egg instead of an adapted egg from a human donor. It's the last screen of information that makes him stop in his tracks.

"Tony, are you planning on creating an adult clone?" He glances at the other scientist, who's pursed his lips, tapping on them with his finger. "Are you planning on cloning yourself?"

"No, no, no," Tony says. "The world can only handle one genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist at a time."

"Then who—"

"Coulson."

Bruce blinks. He opens his mouth to say something, but then prompt shuts it. He's not sure what he wants to say. Or rather, what he wants to say first.

He settles for, "Why do you want to clone Agent Coulson?"

Tony looks at Bruce critically, as if he could divine the all the other man's secrets simply by staring at him. He probably could, which leaves Bruce feeling a bit unsettled. Then, Tony nods, just once and turns back to the bank of monitors. His fingers fly over the virtual keyboard, and new images appear.

"What's that?"

"This," Tony says, waving his hand at the displays, "is my LMD prototype."

"Doesn't look like it's in very good shape," Bruce comments. He's familiar with the specifics; he'd spent an afternoon crawling through the specs when he'd been frustrated by one of his own projects and JARVIS had offered a distraction.

"It's been in continuous operation for the last six months," Tony says. "It's breaking down from the excess wear and tear."

Bruce squints at the screen, trying to figure out what this has to do with their previous conversation when it hits him. "This is Coulson? He's in the LMD?"

"He is the LMD," Tony says. His tone is edged with anger, and there's a tightness around his eyes that's a clear tell. "Fury downloaded him into the LMD after he got stabbed."

"Shit."

"Eloquent, but apt," Tony says.

"So, why not just build another prototype LMD?" Bruce asks. It seems like the best solution, whereas the cloning thing… well, there's no guarantee it'll work, aside from the fact that the clone would be an infant, and he's pretty sure Coulson won't want to go through puberty again.

Tony shakes his head. "Too much risk. I don't want to keep copying his brain from one LMD to the next."

"Because each time you copy the data, it could become corrupted."

"Right," Tony says. "So, one more copy, and then we're done."

"But the clone will be born as an infant," Bruce points out. "Won't help much."

"Ah, but here's where it gets interesting," 

Tony says. He waves at his holographic display, and a new set of schematics pops up. Bruce leans in, examining the device more closely. It's cylindrical, bristling with sensors and hooked up to what looks like a low-output EMF generator.

When he realizes what he's looking at, he pulls back, staring at Tony. "You're proposing to gestate the clone in that thing, aren't you? Grow it to adult size before you download Couslon into it."

"If I can get it to work."

It's an interesting challenge, and definitely something Bruce could sink his metaphorical teeth into. But he can't help but notice that Tony didn't ask for his help. He's not sure why that bothers him, but it does.

"Were you ever going to bring me in?"

Tony scowls. "Fury ordered me not to tell anyone."

Ah. "Well, technically you didn't. I figured it out mostly on my own. So, you're safe from the Director's wrath." He pauses. "So, just us?"

"Rogers knows."

Somehow that doesn't surprise him. Steve is highly observant, and he cares about all of them. If what Tony is saying is true and the LMD is slowly degrading, Steve would have noticed it.

They stand in silence, watching he schematics twist and roll in midair. It's an interesting problem, and one he's never considered before. And he likes Agent Coulson; if this will help him, after everything that Coulson and SHIELD have done for him, he's all in.

"So, when do we start?"

Tony's grin stretches off his face.

...continued...


	4. Natasha

~o~

The debriefing is long and tedious. After years of silence and relative peace, HYDRA has reared its ugly head once again, and the Avengers are running point. It's probably down to the fact that Steve Rogers has some experience with the organization, but whatever the reason, it's keeping the team busy.

She hasn't been on a SHIELD op in months, and for a spy like Natasha Romanov, who thrives on the danger of covert missions, it's making her skin crawl.

It's not as though the HYDRA ops aren't interesting, because chasing a super-secret organization through the world's backwaters is challenging and she does get to use her considerable talents in the chase. It's the sitting around between missions that's starting to get on her last nerve. 

Natasha is a woman of action, but now that she's also an Avenger, she's far too famous to be going on SHIELD ops. So, she trains—herself and others, when given the chance—and she waits.

The mission they've just completed wasn't even very difficult. They'd caught wind of a HYDRA base near Petropavlovsk, but in typical fashion, the Russians hadn't agreed to let them cross into Russian territory to take it out, preferring to do it themselves. Then the panicked call had come mere hours into the mission, and the Avengers had deployed to finish the job. Boring and over too quickly, and now all Natasha wants to do is get out of the debrief and head for the gym where she can beat up on some unsuspecting trainees to burn off the excess energy she can still feel pooling in her muscles.

Finally—finally—Coulson wraps up the debrief, and the rest of the team begins to gather their things and make their way out of the conference room. They're all tired; none of them had slept on the plane, over or back. But just like the schoolchildren she suspects they all still are inside, there's teasing and joking, an easy camaraderie that she wouldn't have thought possible growing out of the events of the Battle of Manhattan.

She catches sight of Tony slapping Coulson on the shoulder before his thumb slips up to the exposed skin of Coulson's neck. There's something metal wrapped around his thumb, and she watches as it makes contact with Coulson's neck. Predictably, Coulson yelps and swats Tony away.

"Did you just pinch me?" he says, rounding on their resident billionaire. "I will so tase you, Tony. Don't give me an excuse."

Tony holds up his hands, the shiny metal gone from his thumb. "It wasn't me, I swear."

His expression is too practiced to be real, which makes her all the more suspicious. Coulson files out with the rest of the team, and Natasha glides up behind Tony, waiting for the rest of the group to pass through the door. Once they're all clear, she grabs Tony by the shoulder and slams him into the wall, her forearm closing over his windpipe, though she's only pressing hard enough to keep him there, not to kill. Yet.

"What did you just do?"

Tony winces, but the barely-there rise and fall of his shoulders is answer enough.

"If you hurt him—"

"I didn't, I swear," Tony says urgently. He's practically whispering, and that's got Natasha even more curious.

"What did you do?" she asks again, no less deadly, but she's released some of the pressure on Tony's neck. He needs room to talk, and she figures if she's not trying to choke him, he'll be more forthcoming.

"I—" Whatever bullshit lie he's about to tell, he chokes it off when she leans in just a little bit more. "They're nanites. I injected him with nanites, okay?"

"Why are you injecting Coulson with nanites?" she asks. "Does he know about it?"

"To answer your second question, no he doesn't, and I'm under orders not to tell."

Natasha takes a step back, releasing Tony from her hold. He rubs his neck, but otherwise doesn't take his eyes off her. The only person who could ever hope to give an order that Tony would obey is Steve, but that's usually on the battlefield. Once out of the field, Tony seemed to be the one they all looked to, for some odd reason.

Tony sighs when she doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at him. "Fine. I'll answer your questions, but not here."

"Tony—"

He holds up a hand. "Not. Here."

So, it's something he doesn't want to talk about within earshot of any SHIELD listening device. She doesn't stop to overanalyze it; Tony puts even the most eager conspiracy theorists to shame. She simply nods her head and follows him out the door, not even bothering to stop and change out of her uniform. 

The ride to the Tower is quiet, and Tony seems more agitated the closer they get. She'd like to put it down to being alone in a car with her, but she's not sure that's it. They finally reach the privacy of his lab, where he engages even more anti-listening devices than usual. Natasha rolls her eyes and stands with her arms crossed, waiting for the show to begin.

Tony pulls up a ton of schematics and graphs, none of which mean anything to her. There is one that stands out, if only because it has Coulson's name attached.

"What is all this, Tony?"

"This," he says, waving at the myriad displays and holograms, "is Fury's big secret. Coulson's not who we think he is. Well, he is who we think he is, just a little less… organic."

Natasha moves closer, but it's not like she's a scientist. Point her at the bad guys—and give her a gun or not, it makes no difference—and she can take them out. Science is for people a helluva lot smarter than she is.

"Okay, perhaps you'd better start from the beginning."

So he does. When he finally winds down, she's staring at him like he's the alien. "You mean to tell me that Coulson's in that thing?"

"He is that thing," Tony says.

"Who else knows?"

"Steve, Bruce, now you." Tony pauses, then grimaces. "And the eyepatch, and presumably whoever he got to do the transfer."

"You didn't do it?"

"I didn't even know the LMD was in use until I figured it out," Tony says. He's clearly still pissed at Fury, and she'd have given good money to see that confrontation.

"Does Coulson know?" she asks, because that seems to be the most relevant part of this equation.

Tony winces. "Fury won't tell him, and he's forbid me to say anything."

"Is that why you dosed him earlier?" she asks. "What was that, by the way?"

"Nanites," he says again, as if that should mean something to her. He sighs, his voice dropping into teacher mode as he explains. "Think of them as tiny robots, about the size of a needle point. Each one programmed to perform a specific set of tasks. In this case, I've programmed them to repair some of the worst of the damage the LMD is sustaining from prolonged use. It's not enough to keep him running indefinitely, but it'll help keep it going until I fix this mess."

"And just how do you plan to do that?"

A whole new set of specs bloom to life on the monitors, and now it makes perfect sense why Doctor Banner is involved. It's not the super soldier serum, but it's close, and Bruce is probably the only person alive—and sane—who can understand how it works. 

"How long until it's ready?"

"I don’t know," Tony says. "It's… complicated."

She turns on him, advancing as he's retreating until his back crashes into the workbench behind him. She just keeps coming until she's plastered to his front, her arm once again across his windpipe.

"You will fix this," she says, voice low and threatening. "You will fix him, or Coulson tasing you will be the least of your worries."

When she releases him, he gasps for air, holding his neck and looking at her with a strange mix of pride and fear. "Yeah, I promise, he'll be good as new when I'm done."

"I won't tell Fury about our conversation," she says. She's not sure what he'd do, but pulling Coulson and stashing him somewhere out of the way wouldn't be out of the question.

"Thank you," is all Tony can say.

With that, she turns on her heel and marches out of the lab.

Clint had told her, all those years ago when he'd helped recruit her, that life with SHIELD would never be boring. She couldn't have imagined then what that might mean. She's starting to wonder now if she might have changed her mind had she known what she was in for.

...continued...


	5. Clint

~o~

Antarctica is fucking freezing. 

It's true, and Clint Barton doesn't care if saying it makes him Captain Obvious. It's worth repeating. A lot. 

It's fucking freezing in Antarctica. 

They're in Antarctica because some weird spatial anomaly opened up near the research camp, and the last thing anyone needs is a bunch of scientists being overrun by aliens or whatever else might come through. No one was sure what to expect, so they sent in the Avengers. 

Turns out a little paranoia is healthy, because they're currently engaging a hoard of Yeti with some sort of alien crossbow that's clearly capable of penetrating armor, if the holes in Iron Man's suit are any indication. It's oddly similar to the weapon Chewbacca carried in the Star Wars movies, and the fact that George Lucas got that right is freaking him the fuck out, especially considering he's almost been hit by the glowy green ammo several times.

Clint hates the Yeti almost as much as he hates the cold. 

The Avengers are holding their own, if only because the Yeti are large and slow, but it's a fair fight because it turns out human beings weren't meant to live in sub-zero climates. Clint's fingers are so numb he can't feel the string when he draws, but he's still hitting everything he aims at, just maybe not exactly where he aims.

There's really no high ground here, though, so for once he's on the ground with the rest of the team. He's wrapped in so many layers he feels like a damned human burrito, but if it's a choice between freezing and being able to move, he'll take the extra layers. 

"Iron Man, two of the creatures have broken off, currently heading for McMurdo," he hears Phil say over the radio. 

Say what you will about the Suits, but Phil's never been one to stay out of the fight if he can help. This time, he's standing atop a tracked vehicle with binoculars, scanning the anomaly and updating the team on the locations of the Yeti. It's reassuring how normal it is; Phil had been the voice in his ear for so many of his earliest missions that having him here now is like one more piece of a puzzle slotting into place. 

"Roger that," Iron Man says, blasting the last Yeti coming at him and peeling off to deal with the one's breaking off from the main group.

Clint and Natasha have planted themselves directly across from the anomaly, and they're both firing into the crowd of Yeti's coming through. Steve is close by, using his shield to help deflect Tony's shots at the Yeti coming at him. Super Soldier or no, Steve is still only human, and Clint's glad he hasn't tried wading into the fray yet. Meanwhile Iron Man's flying the perimeter, catching the one's breaking off of the main group while Thor and his hammer are swinging away from inside the fray beside Hulk, who's roaring in delight that he finally gets to smash something. It's a coordinated effort, and it reminds Clint a lot of the Battle of Manhattan. Except these aliens are a helluva lot better looking—and smelling—than the Chitauri.

Clint sees one of the creatures break off from the pack, and calls out a warning as he sees it move in Steve's direction. "Head's up, Cap! One Yeti outbound, your direction."

He sees Steve's head pop up, swiveling around to find the threat, but before he can do anything about it, the Yeti raises its weapon and fires. Clint whips his head around, trying to see if it's hit Iron Man again, when he sees Phil go down.

"Shit! Coulson's been hit!" he yells before springing into action.

Before he can complete the thought, he's running for the tracked transport, his teammates yelling in his ear, but he doesn't care. Phil shouldn't have been out in the open, and now he's taken a hit. Flashes of memories hit him as he scrambles up to the roof of the vehicle, memories tinted ice blue, and he can feel it in his veins.

Around him, he can hear the battle continuing, but he only has eyes for Phil. The man is lying face down on the roof of the transport, and Clint can't see any movement suggesting he's even still breathing. Of course, Phil's wearing just as many layers as the rest of them, so it's not like he can really tell. He reaches out and rolls Phil over, and it's all he can do not to gag at the sight waiting for him.

Phil has a hole burnt into his chest.

"Fuck!" Clint shouts. 

He stands up and starts firing arrows at the Yeti, his aim more true than it's been all day. It only takes a few minutes for them to beat back the enemy and Iron Man fires one last shot into the portal before it closes. Silence descends on the frozen plain, but it only takes a few moments before the rest of the team is heading for the transport. Iron Man lands on the roof, flipping his faceplate up to reveal the man underneath.

"Fuck," Tony says quietly.

Clint laughs without humor. "That's what I said."

His voice cracks, but he ignores it. Maybe if he ignores the whole thing, his heart won't crack either, not that he holds out much hope.

Tony pulls one of his gauntlets off and reaches in to the smoking cavity that used to be Phil Coulson's chest.

"Maybe you shouldn't do that, Tony," Steve says as he climbs up, but he looks a lot less grossed out than Clint feels.

Tony's still rooting around Phil's chest as Thor and Hulk join them. Hulk takes in the scene and asks in a voice as filled with sadness as he's ever used, "Not-Suit Man hurt?"

Clint's eyes dart to his large, green friend, curious about the way he asked that question, like there's something Bruce knows that Hulk has picked up on. He looks back to Tony, who's sharing a look with Steve that's saying a helluva lot more than it probably should.

"Okay," Clint says, because he's not a patient man, "what the fuck's going on?"

"The Son of Coul appears to be… damaged," Thor says as he lands beside Tony on the roof of the transport.

Clint gives him his best no shit look before turning back to Tony. He crosses his arms and lifts one eyebrow in a perfect imitation of his longtime handler, smiling in satisfaction when it makes the billionaire flinch.

"You have to understand, it wasn't my idea," Tony says, holding up his hands as he straightens up.

"What wasn't your idea?"

Clint's patience is about done, and Tony's not helping, but it's Natasha's voice that cuts through the threatening silence.

"He's an LMD, Clint."

"What?" he shouts, rounding on her. "What the fuck do you mean, 'he's an LMD'?"

"What is this LMD that you speak of?" Thor asks.

"The Life Model Decoy was designed so that an agent could go into a difficult situation with little risk to himself."

Everyone turns to find Doctor Banner shrugging into a spare parka. There's exhaustion in every line of his body; he rubs his hands over his face as he tries to come back to himself. Clint's trying to make sense of what he's just said, but it's not clicking for him.

"So, what, this is an android version of Coulson?" he asks. "So, where's the real Coulson, and why did they send this one with us?"

Tony sighs. "This is the only version of Agent we have. His power source hasn't been compromised, so the damage can be repaired."

"Wait, wait, wait," Clint says, waving his hands to stop the flow of words from Tony's mouth. "Are you saying he's a robot? That all LMDs are robots?"

"I designed them so agents could interface with them," Tony says. His eyes are darting around, looking everywhere but at Clint, which is making him nervous. "Under normal circumstances, an agent would be strapped into a neural interface, and their consciousness would be projected into the LMD for the duration of the mission. The prototype's not done yet, but they're close to being field ready."

"Clearly closer than you think," Clint says, pointing at the body lying on the roof of the transport. "So, if this is Coulson's LMD, where's Coulson?"

"Coulson's dead."

It's Steve this time, and Clint's getting really tired of people telling him that. If he followed Tony's explanation correctly, Coulson should be somewhere warm, projecting himself into the LMD. Clint tries not to be jealous.

"Okay, but Tony just said—"

"Agent died during the Battle of Manhattan, and Fury, in his infinite wisdom, downloaded his consciousness into the LMD I've been working on. You want a better explanation than that, Katniss, you'll have to ask the eyepatch."

Clint stares at the body—the robot, or whatever they're calling it—and tries to process the idea that one of his oldest and closest friends is not really alive, but actually a very sophisticated piece of equipment. He rubs a hand through his hair, because that thought actually hurts his brain.

When he looks up, everyone is staring at him, mostly with that sadness in their eyes that he remembers from when his parents died. He hates that look, but right now it tells him something he didn't know a few minutes ago.

"You all knew? You knew and you didn't tell me? Jesus! What the hell kind of friends are you if you knew and you lied to me about it for—fuck, I don’t even know how long this has been going on."

"Eleven months," Banner says. "Almost a year."

"Fuck," Clint says.

"Surely you can repair him," Thor says. "If he is truly an artificial being, then he can be repaired."

"Not the point, Thor," Clint shoots back, his voice hard as the ice surrounding them.

"We'd have lost him otherwise," Natasha says quietly.

Clint rounds on her, his eyes flashing with fury. "And this is better? He's a fucking robot, Nat! He would never have agreed to this, and you know it. But instead of letting him die with dignity, Fury turns him into… this!"

The silence that falls between them is deafening. None of them is making eye contact, everyone staring at Phil, still laying there on the roof of the transport, the smoking ruin of his chest mocking them.

"I did not know the Son of Coul very well, but I believe that his loss has affected all of us greatly," Thor says quietly. "I can only speak for myself when I say that to have him returned to us is a great gift, no matter how it was accomplished."

Something in Clint's chest clenches, because despite how angry he is—and he's not really angry at Tony; he can tell it's not really the man's fault, no matter that it was his technology—having Phil back has been the best thing that's happened to him in forever.

He takes a deep breath and turns to Tony. "You said you can fix him?"

Tony winces, shrugging lightly. "I can repair the damage that crossbow did, but his body's breaking down. He doesn't have that much longer—"

Clint takes an abortive step towards the other man, the only thing keeping him from doing Tony harm is the restraining hand Natasha puts on his shoulder. And the Iron Man suit. Clint's pretty sure he'd break a hand if he tried to punch Tony, but he thinks it would be totally worth it.

"We're working on a more… permanent solution, Clint."

All eyes swing to Banner. Clint had pretty much forgotten the man was still there. He doesn't talk much; for as much as Hulk draws attention to himself like a moth to a flame, Bruce Banner has this uncanny way of blending into the walls when he wants to.

"What are you talking about, Doctor Banner?" Steve asks.

Banner's eyes drift to Tony, who gives a slight nod. "We're attempting to grow an organic substitute."

"You're what?"

"We're cloning Agent," Tony says, rolling his eyes. "Once the body has finished developing, we'll copy his consciousness into it, and it'll be like he never left."

Clint stares at them both for the space of a few heartbeats, unable to believe that in 2013 they're talking about cloning and downloading a person's consciousness. Of course, a few hours ago, he wouldn't have believed that it was possible to make a functioning robot, so he supposes it's all relative.

"Fine," he mutters, tired of talking about this and knowing there isn't anything he can do about it anyway. "But you're explaining it to him."

Tony has the good grace to wince.

...continued...


	6. Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late posting. I had a rare day off from work and went out to play. (Plus I wanted to tinker with this one last time.) Enjoy!

~o~

Thor has seen many wondrous things since his arrival on Earth, but he is not too proud to admit that many of them confuse him. His Jane has been kind enough to explain many of the strange and curious devices that humans have invented to do the tasks that are often left to servants in Asgard. It is true that, to those without understanding, much of what the humans call technology appears to be magic.

Thor knows differently, and yet he still finds himself staring in wonder at the Son of Coul.

They are in one of the laboratories that Tony Stark keeps in his tower, explaining what he has come to understand is perhaps the impossible, to the man it has happened to. Or rather, it is Stark and Doctor Banner trying to explain while the Eye of Hawk and the Black Widow stand back with arms crossed and looks of thunder on their faces.

Thor can understand their anger. They had all believed that the Son of Coul had perished during the attack on the carrier. It had been the galvanizing moment, the moment that the Avengers as a team were born. He had not known the man well, having only met him briefly after his exile to Earth. But what he knew of the man made Thor like and respect him instantly.

And it is not as though there is nothing like this machine the Son of Coul currently inhabits in Asgard, though there are notable differences between this man and the Destroyer. Where the Destroyer had no purpose but that given to it by its master, the Son of Coul has the free will of a man, even if that man now inhabits a complex machine.

"Stark," he hears the Agent say, "explain this to me again. Using small words."

He can see Stark visibly quail at the withering glare the Son of Coul levels on him, and beside him, he can see Captain Rogers smirk. They have wisely chosen to remain spectators, though neither of them felt it wise to simply leave the room. Tensions are high, and for all that they are a team now, what has happened may pull apart all the work done to make them so.

"You were dying," Stark says. "Fury—in all his infinite wisdom and utterly secretive bullshit—thought this was the only way."

"This," the Son of Coul says, pulling at the material of his charred suit to reveal the still-gaping hole in his chest. "How is this even an option?"

"I've been working on the LMDs for a while," Stark says, shrugging as if to minimize his intellect. "They're almost ready, except for the wi-fi. Do you know that SHIELD has the worst wi-fi on the planet? I mean, I had better internet when I was in college, twenty years ago. You should really—" He cuts off abruptly at the identical glares being aimed at him from not one but three sets of eyes. Stark straightens up and looks their friend in the eye. "Fury used some alien tech—and don't ask me where he got it, because he's not saying—and copied your brain, right down to the last synapse. Then he got one of his science flunkies to download that copy into the memory core of the LMD. And wham, bam, thank you SHIELD, you're a robot. A thinky robot, but still…"

Silence descends on the room. The Son of Coul looks down at his chest, then extends his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist as if to test his control. Thor does not need to be able to read minds to know what the man is thinking. Moments like this test the sense of self as no others can. Beside him, he can see the Captain shifting uncomfortably, and he sees the others avert their eyes or clench their own fists in a strange echo.

The Son of Coul sighs and rubs his forehead. "So, now what do we do?"

Acceptance has come easily to the man, increasing Thor's respect for him. There are not many men who would be able to accept this strange turn without doing great damage to the messenger. It is a testament to the man's courage and dedication that he merely accepts what is and moves on to the next thing.

Stark turns to Doctor Banner, and the other man smiles gently, a stark contrast to the angry monster he becomes when enraged. It is a dichotomy that Thor finds fascinating. Doctor Banner is gentle and kind, a warm presence and a willing ear, and he finds he actually likes the man. Odd then, that he and the Hulk do not like each other one bit and often find excuses to fight when the battle is won. But now, it is the compassionate scientist, in his element and offering assurances, who explains what they can do for their friend.

"We've been working on creating an organic replacement," Banner says, his hand motioning to the apparatus in the corner of the lab. "It's pretty much ready. I'd like to run some more tests on it, but under the circumstances, I think we'll just skip those and go directly to implementation."

The senior agent swings his eyes to the cylindrical container in the corner, one eyebrow raised as he takes in the details. "You guys cloned me?"

Stark shrugs. "It seemed like a better idea than building another LMD. These things have a limited shelf life. An organic body, not so much."

The words are strange, but Thor understands the meaning. This LMD that currently houses the Son of Coul will eventually cease to function, requiring them to create another body for him. And it will continue to occur, for the remainder of the Agent's existence unless they can find a more permanent solution. He will not pretend to understand even a fraction of the technology at play here, but he trusts Stark and Banner.

The Son of Coul turns to his two agents; the question is clear on his face. The Eye of Hawk shrugs. "If he says this is the only way, I believe him. It's better than the alternative."

The Black Widow merely nods, which seems to settle the whole issue.

The two agents cross the room to stand beside the Captain and himself as Stark and Banner help the Son of Coul onto a table. He sits quietly as the two scientists prepare him for what is to come. He seems unable to stop looking at his hand as the fingers fold and straighten, as if he is seeing the motion for the first time.

"Muscle memory," the Agent says quietly. Doctor Banner looks at him, a question in his eyes. "I couldn't figure out why I was having so much trouble field-stripping and reloading a gun. Guess this is as good an answer as any."

"Muscle memory is embedded deep within the brain, and it requires very little input from the active centers of the brain," Banner says. "It's possible that the brain scan couldn't copy those patterns."

The Son of Coul frowns. "Will I have to relearn it all again after the transfer?"

Banner shrugs. "It's possible. Without knowing how the technology works, I can't say for sure."

"So it's back to Tahiti, I guess," the Agent says. Banner and Stark share a look, which the Agent cannot help but notice. "What?"

"It's just a guess," Stark says, "but I'd say Tahiti was probably a plant. Like a post-hypnotic suggestion."

"Is there any part of me that's real?"

Stark winces, a pained look on his face. There are no words adequate for the moment, but Thor is not one to allow a shield-brother to stand alone in his moment of need. He steps to the table, laying a hand on the Agent to draw his attention.

"My father once said that the measure of a man is not in his words but in his deeds. You have fought, and yes, even died, to protect those you love. Those are not the actions of a soulless machine, but of a true warrior. Rest assured, my brother, no matter the shell that carries you, you are indeed my brother, and I will be beside you on this journey, no matter where it may take you."

"We all will, sir," Clint says from behind Thor.

The Agent meets his gaze, eyes steady, then looks around the room, taking in the absolute commitment on the faces of those gathered. The doubt is banished for the moment, replaced by the calm assurance he is so well known for. He utters not a word, but nods his gratitude, to which Thor nods in return. He steps back, returning to the small group of Avengers awaiting the outcome of this process, in the hope of success.

The Son of Coul reclines on the table, laying his hands over his stomach and quietly waiting as Stark and Banner prepare him for what lies ahead.

Many minutes pass as strange machines are brought in and placed in a circle around the agent. Then, they place the newly-created clone on a table beside the Son of Coul. His face goes pale, as though he has only just realized what has truly transpired. Thor's heart aches for the man. He has seen much and done more, but this has the power to undo him.

As Stark and Banner tether the Agent to the machines, his head turns and Thor sees real fear in his eyes. Thor stands straighter, his hands clenching into fists at his side. If he could, he would gladly take the man's place and save him from the fear and uncertainty he is facing. Instead, all he can do is offer the man the support of a true friend and hope it is enough.

...continued...


	7. Phil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, the final chapter. A great big thank you to everyone who's followed, kudo'd and commented on this story. You're the reason I keep doing this. Enjoy!

~o~

Phil Coulson stands on the tarmac, watching as The Bus is resupplied and readied to go. It's been nearly a month since they've been out in the field, and he's itching to get back to it.

He's standing with hands hitched on his hips, his suit as impeccable as always, dark glasses hiding his thoughts from the world as he supervises the preparations. A box slips from its precarious perch atop a stack on the cart rolling up the ramp, and before the crewman can retrieve it and place it with the others in the cargo bay, Fitz and Simmons are on him, complaining about the sensitivity of the equipment and the carelessness with which it's being handled. He can't hear the words, but he doesn't need to. By now, he knows his people, so all he really needs to do is close his eyes and unspool any of a hundred moments to get the idea.

His hand twitches as he watches Fitz check over the contents of the box to make sure it's undamaged; he holds it out and clenches it, watching the skin play over muscle and bone. It's still a novelty, still a little surreal to think that the body he's in now isn't the one he was born with, and isn't the mechanical one he'd spent the last year in. It still feels like his skin, only without the accumulation of scars he'd earned after so many years living at the ragged edge of the world.

It's taken him less time than he'd imagined to get back into shape. They'd told his team he was on a special assignment for the Director while he rehabbed—not in Tahiti, even though he'd lobbied for it and felt that Fury owed him at least that much. But now he's back, and if he's still having a little trouble with reloading his gun or keeping his balance while he kicks out at his sparring partner, well, he figures it'll all come back eventually.

"You almost ready to go?"

Phil takes a deep breath, looking down at the ground as he leashes the flash of temper coursing through him at the sound of that voice.

"Plane's almost loaded," he says, clipped and concise. "We'll be wheels-up in half an hour."

Silence hangs between the two men. Phil isn't willing to make this easy, and he sure as hell doesn't owe the man anything more than the respect due his office, no matter how long they've known each other.

When Fury speaks, his voice is somehow smaller. "Cheese, I—"

Phil spins on his heel, turning his back on the plane and his team. He doesn't want them to see this, doesn't want them to have anything but faith in SHIELD, even if his own faith has been shaken to the core.

"You don't get to apologize and make it all better, _Director_ ," he says, his anger tightly controlled as he leans a little on the man's title. "As usual, you did what you thought was best without thinking about the consequences. Well, now it's time to pay the piper."

"Look, you have to understand that I did what I had to do," Fury says. There's a pleading quality to his voice that Phil doesn't think he's ever heard. "I couldn't lose you, not when I needed you most."

"So instead you lie to me, let me believe I'd survived the stabbing, kept my existence a secret from the people I trust most." He shakes his head. "That isn't friendship. That's not even a strategic advantage. That's just manipulating circumstances to suit your agenda. Well, guess what? I'm not yours to manipulate."

"No?" Fury asks, a smug look passing through his eye. "Then what do you call this? You're loading up _my_ plane, heading out to do what _I_ need you to do."

"No, what I'm doing is taking the resources you've tasked to my _team_ and doing my _job_. The job you assigned me. But I want you to keep out of it and let me do that job the way we agreed: without your interference."

Fury snorts. "You planning on going rogue on me?"

"Don't need to," Phil says, smiling. "I got it in writing, remember? Full autonomy and the freedom to choose which cases we take. You've been manipulating me, feeding me cases and keeping me from finding out the truth. That stops now."

"You can't just take your team and your toys and go home when you don't like the rules, Phil. That's not how this works."

"That's exactly how this is going to work, Director," Phil says. His voice has gone hard and uncompromising, and he hardly recognizes himself in this moment. Years of friendship have been undone, and though he mourns the loss, he knows this is the only way to make sure nothing like this happens again. Well, that and collecting all the alien tech Fury's got secreted away. But they'll get to that sooner or later.

Fury crosses his arms, glaring down at Phil with his one good eye. He used to be intimidated by that, but that was before he came back from the dead. Now, not so much.

"Fine," the Director says. "If this is how you want to play it, you have your autonomy. I won't interfere with your team. But when I need you, I'm gonna call, and you're gonna come. If for no other reason than because we were friends once."

Phil doesn't say anything, just meets the Director's eye with his own steady gaze. It isn't an agreement, tacit or otherwise, but it is a denouement of a sort. They won't settle anything here, and he thinks it'll be a long time before they do, so he doesn't even try. He hears footsteps behind him, and turns to see Agent Melinda May approaching.

"Sir, we've finished loading the supplies. We're ready when you are."

"Thank you, Agent May," Phil says.

She raises her eyebrow, glancing between Fury and him, the question clear in her eyes. He gives a minute shake of the head. He doesn't plan to tell his team what happened; they don't need their faith in him or their mission compromised by something they can't do anything about. He knows May, though, and knows she won't let it go until she's figured it out. It might be nice to have someone to talk to, but he'll wait until she comes to him before he'll open up.

Phil takes a deep breath. "Director," he says, nodding at the other man.

He falls in beside May and together they head towards the plane. His team is lined up at the foot of the ramp, waiting for him to join them so they can head out on their next assignment.

"Everything okay?" May asks.

"Everything's fine, May," he says.

She raises her eyebrow at him, disbelief clear on her face. He pulls her to a stop, just far enough away from the plane that the rest of the team won't hear.

"It's just a disagreement over procedure," he says, hoping that some grain of truth will appease her. "Just the Director and I disagreeing about how to proceed. Don’t worry about it. We're good to go."

"If you say so," she says, but he can still see the gears working.

Knowing there's nothing he can do about it right now, he turns and covers the distance to the plane in a few strides. "Buckle up. We're heading out."

Ward gives May a look, his own eyebrow lifting in question. May simply nods, then brushes past the team, headed for the cockpit. Skye, Fitz and Simmons turn to Ward, who waves a hand in the direction of the plane.

"You heard the man, buckle up. We've got a case." The others shuffle off, until it's only himself and Ward. "Ready when you are, sir."

Phil takes his sunglasses off and walks up the ramp, sensing when Ward falls in behind him. "Let's go."

The ramp begins to raise behind him, and Phil turns around, seeing Fury still standing on the tarmac, arms crossed, watching them prepare to leave. He feels a spike of loss in his chest—and he hadn't realized that such physical reactions were missing until he'd started to feel them again—but quickly brushes it aside.

They have a job to do, and now that he's back, he's going to do it to the best of his ability. It's all he's ever known; it's the man he's always been, and that more than anything, reassures him that he'll be fine.

Man or machine, he's still Phil Coulson, after all.

~Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This is being posted in parts, mostly because I haven't finished writing the end yet. It's not something I usually do, but I only have the last chapter to write, so I wanted to share this with you now instead of waiting. I'll post one chapter a day until we reach the end.


End file.
